


in all but name

by salazarsslytherin



Series: old married maycury [1]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Day One, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Maycury Week, freddie's still alive, spans 70s to present day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 20:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20494922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salazarsslytherin/pseuds/salazarsslytherin
Summary: "I’m going to marry you one day.”Freddie laughs into his mouth.  “That’s not even legal.”“Just wait,” Brian promises.





	in all but name

**Author's Note:**

> Brian wasn't actually married in 1975 but for the purposes of this fic he was, just ignore the timelines! <3

**27th April, 1975**

Things feel different in Japan. More real. Like they go from playing pretend to being _adults_. They realise that this is...something. There’s really something here, something worth holding onto. Worth _fighting_ for. 

They talk a lot. They talked a lot anyway, in fact they regularly irritated people by _not shutting up_, but they talk about _them_. About the fact that there is a _them_, this isn’t just great sex after a great concert, it’s something solid, something palpable. 

“We should come back here,” Brian says in bed one morning, turned on his side and smiling at Freddie past the pillow. 

“I’m sure we’ll come back here tonight, darling,” Freddie laughs. He stretches languidly, his legs crossing over into Brian’s territory and staying there, ice cold feet on Brian’s poor calves.

“Menace,” he says, shifting so he can trap Freddie’s feet between his legs, freezing though they are. “I mean Japan. We should come here on our own, not as Queen. For a trip. Do all the things we don’t have time for this time. A proper tea ceremony, just us. Bathe in some of the hot springs. There are so many gardens we haven’t seen and we haven’t looked at any of the temples. You could spend half our money on antiques and kimonos and I’ll tell you off about it but I won’t really mind,” Brian says fondly.

Freddie smiles. “You old romantic,” he teases. “I’d love to come back. I feel like we’ve barely had time to do anything and when we have we’ve had half a million cameras in our faces.”

It _has_ been difficult. They adore their fans and their welcome here has been truly astounding, but it’s a little overwhelming at the same time. They can’t go _anywhere_ without being followed, which makes keeping their relationship a secret somewhat difficult.

“I want to do it _properly_,” Brian says, taking Freddie’s hand and kissing the back of it. “I want to walk under the cherry blossoms and hold your hand. Kiss you on the street.”

Freddie sighs, tugging their joined hands toward him and pressing Brian’s against his cheek. “You know we can’t do that, darling,” he says quietly. “Even if we did come back.”

“One day we will,” Brian says determinedly. His face twists oddly and his eyes go bright like he’s trying not to cry. “We’ll do it _properly_, as a couple. I don’t care who sees. That’s what I want with you, Fred. The real thing.”

“Bri…”

“No, I mean it.” Brian lets go of Freddie’s hand and sits up, turning to look at him. “This _is_ real, Freddie.”

“I know,” Freddie says carefully, sitting up as well. “Brian, I know,” he repeats firmly. “This is...darling, this is the most _real_ thing I’ve ever done, I swear to you. I love you.”

Brian swallows. “I love _you_,” he says. “I hate hiding it.”

Freddie gives a bitter laugh but it’s not unkind. He’s just more used to it than Brian is; he’s been hiding what he is for years, now. Brian’s only just had to start. It _is_ hard. And it doesn’t get easier to bear, you just learn how to live with it. The world isn’t the place Freddie wishes it was.

“I want to get a divorce,” Brian says, staring down at the covers.

“Bri…” They’ve talked about it before, Brian’s brought it up before. But it’s too perfect as a cover story—how could anyone ever suspect with Brian’s oh-so-perfect wife waiting for him at home?

“No, Freddie,” Brian cuts him off before he can say all of the things they’ve already said. “I mean it. I hate living like this, it’s just a _lie_. It’s you I want. Only you.”

“You have me,” Freddie tells him, leaning over to kiss him. 

Brian lets him for a moment before he breaks away with a sad sigh. “But you don’t have me,” he points out. 

And it’s true, and it does hurt, but Freddie’s painfully aware of what he can’t have. He’s made what peace he can with it.

“I don’t need a ring to know you love me,” Freddie tells him, kissing him again, deeper now, trying to distract him before Brian spirals into one of his dark moods. 

It works. Brian kisses him back, squeezing the back of his neck for a moment before he rolls them both over so they can lie down. 

“I’d give you a ring,” Brian says in between kisses. “I’d give you anything you wanted. I’m going to marry you one day.”

Freddie laughs into his mouth. “That’s not even legal.”

“Just wait,” Brian promises.

* * *

**3rd May, 1975**

The tour finishes a week later and they touchdown in London flushed with success and utterly exhausted but Brian can barely sleep.

He’d had to leave Freddie at the airport to return home and nothing has ever left him feeling so hollow.

He travels into London the next day to speak to his lawyer about drawing up divorce papers. He’s tired of living like this; even if he can’t have Freddie the way he wants, at the very least he can stop pretending to be something he’s not.

Freddie cries when Brian tells him, late in the afternoon the very same day. 

He’d told Brian so many times that it was for the best he didn’t do anything, it was safer for them, it was just _easier_, but he’s always hated it. He’s always gone horribly quiet whenever Chrissy was mentioned, he’s always disappeared without a word whenever she came to visit on tour. 

He clings hard to Brian and tries to contain his sobs, not really even sure what he’s crying about, and Brian holds him and soothes him and cries himself.

“This is it, now, Freddie,” he says, holding him tight. “This is for real. You and me.”

* * *

**8th April, 1976**

It takes months and months for it to go through, nearly a year. They’ve got another album under their belts and they’re nearing the end of the next tour by the time it’s all finalised.

Brian goes straight to Freddie once he hears, pulling out the ring he’s been carrying for the better part of a year.

“It’s done,” he says simply, almost numb with it. “I’m not married. So I wanted to give you this.”

He doesn’t get down on one knee—this isn’t, _can’t be_ that, not yet—but it’s as close as they can get for now. 

Freddie’s blinking back tears. “You got me a ring?” he whispers.

Brian slides it onto his finger, the fourth finger of his right hand. And one day, he’s absolutely determined, he’ll move it to his left hand and swear to love him in front of anyone who’ll witness. 

“I _am_ going to marry you, one day,” Brian tells him with a watery grin.

Freddie laughs. “Still illegal, darling.”

* * *

**9th August, 1986**

They all decide, with very little discussion, that this will be their last tour. They’ve been making the same circuits for years now, treading similar paths, killing themselves every night trying to keep up with the merciless schedules. They’re older, now. They have more to live for.

Freddie had had a scare a little while back and since then Brian’s been thinking about the future a lot. He loves touring, isn’t sure how exactly he’ll live without it, but he knows they’ll figure it out. Him and Freddie.

Over the last ten years they’ve broken up three times and _nearly_ broken up countless times but they always seem to end right back here, in each others’ arms, because that’s the only thing that matters. It’s real. It’s the only real thing Brian knows.

Their final show is at Knebworth Park, just outside London, so nearly home. 

None of them have ever given a better show in their entire careers, Freddie is alight with it, lifted up by the voices of a one-hundred-and-twenty-thousand strong crowd. He’s like a god out there but to Brian, that’s nothing new. He’s always, forever, awed by him, though. That never changes.

The ring on his finger glitters under the lights as he throws his hands in the air and twirls the mic, throws an arm out to welcome the audience in to sing with him—_Ay-oh!_

They love him. Everyone loves him. 

But Brian’s the one who gets to take him home.

* * *

**20th September, 1988**

Freddie loves Garden Lodge, he adores the place, it’s his pride and joy. But, although it’s private, it seems like every reporter in the country knows exactly where it is.

Life becomes difficult, getting in and out is a mission in stealth and more often than not completely impossible with flash-bulbs blinding every guest and visitor and homeowner asking when Queen will tour again, if the band has broken up, if Freddie is sick.

It’s impossible to keep the fact that Brian lives there from the press; he stops hiding it, coming and going as he pleases though he declines to give any comment. They’ve never felt the need to out themselves publicly; people can look at them and see what they want. All that matters is that the two of them know the truth.

But it’s exhausting living like that. And Brian knows Freddie loves Garden Lodge but he starts looking, just in case. And one of the first houses he looks at is a gorgeous country house in Surrey, plenty of land for the cats to roam, out of the way and private, enough space that they could do whatever they wanted.

It needs some attention, but that’s perfect—that’s what Freddie likes.

Brian coaxes Freddie away from planning yet _another_ lunch party to take him to go and see it. It’s only an hour outside the city and Freddie watches out of the window as they start driving through more green pastures and woodland, shooting Brian a coy, knowing sort of look.

“Where are you taking me?” he asks.

“You’ll see.”

Freddie obviously gets it as they roll along the driveway, which is long and gorgeous, like something out of an old period piece. “Oh!” Freddie breathes. “This is just beautiful, darling!”

“I love it,” Brian tells him as the car comes to a stop. Gravel crunches under his feet as he gets out of the car and meets Freddie round the other side. The estate agent is waiting for them by the front door. 

“I know you love Garden Lodge,” Brian starts, leaning in to kiss his forehead. “But we could live a better life here. Nobody could find us.”

Brian’s half-expecting him to say definitely not, Garden Lodge is his _home_, but Freddie smiles and laughs. “Let’s see inside, then,” he says, taking Brian’s hand. “I must say I’m relieved, darling. You’re not very good at sneaking around, you know. I was beginning to worry you were having an affair.”

Brian stops short at that. “You know I’d never do that to you,” he says seriously.

Freddie laughs gently. “I know,” he soothes. 

Freddie loves the house. Brian’s nearly dizzy with relief. 

The estate agent correctly realises they want some time alone to look at it and waits for them downstairs while they look around. 

Freddie can’t stop talking, ideas pouring out of him about what they could do with this room, and this one, and that one. “Oh, wouldn’t my dragon and lotus vases look just perfect either side of that window?” and “This would be a wonderful study for you, Bri!”

Brian finally takes him downstairs and shows him what he’s most excited about, though of course it’s all empty in there at the moment. “We could build a whole private studio in here,” he says, gesturing around as they walk in. “It’s easily big enough, we could get it fully kitted out, record whenever we liked.”

Freddie’s eyes have gone round as he takes it in, nodding along. 

“We’d still have to record a lot of the Queen stuff in Montreux but this could be for _us_,” Brian says. They’ve both started penning bits and pieces of solo work here and there, though the new Queen album takes up most of their time—they might not tour any more but they still have a lot of music left to write.

“I love it, Bri,” Freddie tells him, returning to his side and looping both arms around his waist. One look at the relief on Brian’s face tells him all he needs to know. “Darling! You’ve already gone and bought it, haven’t you?”

Brian’s guilty face answers for him. “I’ve signed my bit. Just need you to put your signature on as well. It’ll be in both our names.”

“Hmm,” Freddie hums, grinning as he buries his face in Brian’s chest. “It’s almost like you’re serious about this.”

Brian laughs and kisses the top of his head. “Of course I am,” he says. “I’m going to marry you, after all.”

Freddie’s breath is warm through his shirt as he huffs, amused. “I’m almost starting to believe it, darling.”

* * *

**15th October, 1995**

Brian, at Freddie’s urging, finally finishes his PhD. The ceremony is in October and somehow, Freddie manages to get a seat right near the front beside Brian’s mother. 

Non-official photography within the venue is banned so they’re left more or less alone though Freddie snaps an illegal photo of Brian as he walks out, because he’s Freddie Mercury and he can do what he wants. Nobody says a word to him.

And Brian, because he’s _Brian_, is allowed to say a few words once he has his diploma in his hands, the bloody hat pinned mercilessly to his head to keep it in place on all his hair. He’d worried he might look ridiculous in the get-up, a grown man, but he doesn’t. He’s worked hard for this, spent more sleepless nights than he cares to remember pouring over research and re-writing the same passages over and over, driving Freddie up the wall trying to make him read things for him or listen to them out loud or by just not coming to bed despite _promising_ that tonight he was finishing up early and would be there in half an hour, Fred, tops.

It’s Freddie he smiles at when he leans into the mic, grins at him in fact, swelled by the look on his face, how Freddie is just _glowing_ with pride.

Brian talks about the university and how thankful he is to them for giving him the chance to finish this, and says a few things to the other students that he hopes they find at least semi-inspiring, because if he can do this after all these years then they can do anything.

“I wish my father could have seen me stand up here today,” Brian says, looking down at where his mum is sat with Freddie, both of them subtly dabbing their eyes. “Because I know he’d be so proud. This was what he wanted for me. And I could never, ever have done it without the other half of my soul, my partner in all things—Freddie, sweetheart. Thank you for putting up with me.”

That gets a massive cheer and they’ve never _hidden_ but somehow the press gets hold of that quote and a photo of Freddie, Brian and his mother at the ceremony and they have a field day with it.

“It’s not like they didn’t know before,” Freddie says the next morning, shaking his head at the front page. It’s been a while since they graced it. “You _do_ look wonderful in this photo though, darling. _Dr Brian May_,” he purrs.

Brian thinks Freddie almost gets more of a kick out of hearing that than he does himself. _Almost_.

He swoops down to kiss him, _pointedly_, and Freddie’s breakfast is soon forgotten.

“Married to a doctor,” Brian muses as he tumbles Freddie back into bed a few minutes later. “How very proper of you.”

Freddie snorts. “We’re not married yet.”

“_Yet_,” Brian repeats.

* * *

**18th November, 2004**

“Do you want to do it?” Freddie asks, watching the banner scrolling across the bottom of the television. CIVIL PARTNERSHIP ACT FOR GAY COUPLES GIVEN ROYAL ASSENT.

Brian’s watching the news intently, sipping at his coffee from where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter. They haven’t discussed this yet, though they’ve followed the news closely, both too jaded by the past to believe it would really happen until it did.

“It’s not the same,” he says slowly.

“No,” Freddie agrees. He wouldn’t be Brian’s _husband_, but it’s something. It’s more than they’ve ever been allowed before. “We’d have the same rights, though.”

Brian sets his coffee aside, comes around the table to stand beside Freddie’s chair and takes his hand in his, his right hand. He kisses the ring that’s been there for nearly thirty years. “This stays here,” he says. “Until we can get married _properly_.”

Freddie chuckles. “It’s your ring,” he says. “I’ll wear it wherever you want.”

“I _am_ going to marry you one day,” Brian says, with the exact same determination he’s been saying it for years. “This is a step closer.”

* * *

**21st December, 2005**

They do it the very first day it’s allowed. They don’t have a big party, because Brian’s _adamant_ they’ll have a proper wedding one day, but it’s a small, perfect ceremony with their family and close friends.

Freddie’s ring doesn’t change hands but he does, finally, give Brian a matching one, also on his right hand. They kiss and confetti is thrown and they have a small party back home with lots of music and drinking and laughter. Freddie forbids speeches but Roger somehow still manages to get up to give one, standing on an antique chair to do it. Freddie, who thinks this may be one of the happiest days of his life so far, doesn’t even tell him off.

He and Brian don’t let go of each other all day and miss half the festivities because they can’t stop _kissing_ and by the time they eventually make it to bed they’re giggling like school children.

“Are you happy now, my love?” Freddie asks quietly, tucked as close into Brian as he can possibly get.

“Happiest man in the world,” Brian tells him, kissing his forehead. “The only man happier is Brian May, on the day he’s allowed to marry you properly.”

Freddie hums a tiny laugh. “So I’m not allowed to call you ‘husband’?”

“Not yet, Mr May-Mercury.”

Freddie’s eyebrows jump. “I thought we agreed Mercury-May?” he asks, letting out a shriek of laughter as Brian grabs him and rolls on top of him, distracting him with kisses.

* * *

**17th July, 2013**

It’s summer when it finally happens.

It’s been back and forth in the news for days but it passes. It actually passes. 

Freddie and Brian stand together in their kitchen watching the news together in stunned, tearful silence. There’s nothing to say in the moments after the news breaks. They just silently reach out for the other’s hand and hold tight, clinging together. 

Never, in his life, did Freddie truly believe this would happen. It doesn’t seem so long ago he was living his life in the dark, petrified someone would realise what he was and ruin him with it. And now this; to be allowed to marry. To have a _husband_. 

Freddie’s blinking back tears when he finally wrenches his gaze away from the television to look at Brian. “You always knew,” he chokes out, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. “You always thought.”

“I hoped,” Brian tells him. His voice is unsteady as well, his expression open and raw. He laughs suddenly. “Fucking hell! I think I have something to ask you,” he adds, taking both of Freddie’s hands in his.

It’s just their kitchen; it’s nothing special, except it is. Because it’s _their_ home that they’ve made together, the life they’ve built with each other. Just the two of them, when so many people thought they’d never make it this far.

Freddie’s heart’s in his throat even though this was always a given, it was inevitable. They’re already there, really—they’re married in all but name. But that name _matters_.

And so Brian sinks down to one knee, Freddie’s hands still in his own, and finally he can ask the question he’s wanted to ask since they were boys in a secretly-shared hotel room, clinging together beneath rumpled covers and promising each other the world.

“Freddie...will you marry me?”


End file.
